Nothing to Fear (32 page)

Mia stopped pacing. Turned to face him with utter contempt. “And to tell the police at this point never crossed your mind?”

“Of course it did,” Ethan said harshly. “Every damn minute of the day. But this woman had Alec and knew we hadn’t gone to the police. Dammit, I saw what she’d done. I saw that man’s body in the shed. She threatened to kill Alec and I believed her.”

“When did you plan to come to us, Mr. Buchanan?” Reagan asked quietly.

Ethan’s laugh was completely void of humor. “When I had something to give you. Which looked less and less likely with each day. I’d decided to call you anyway. This morning. Then I saw Dana on the tape and all I could think of was getting to Alec.”

Mitchell grabbed one of the chairs and abruptly straddled it with a snarl. “What other e-mails did you receive, Mr. Buchanan?”

Good cop and bad cop, Ethan understood. Mitchell and Reagan had their harmony down pat. “The next day, yesterday, we got another one. This time it was sent from an Internet café in a bookstore. This one had the specifics of the accounts the Vaughns should use when they paid the ransom. Gave them until today to make a practice deposit or the next package would be smaller. We didn’t know what that meant until the Vaughns got the package this afternoon—a bloody finger that belonged to a grown man.” He swallowed. A picture flashed in his mind. Alec’s hands. His whole, untouched hands. And Ethan’s stomach heaved, even the possibility too obscene to imagine. “I can’t even . . . God.”

Ethan lurched to his feet, bile burning at his throat. He shuddered and braced his hands on the table. Lifted his head and met Mitchell’s clear blue eyes with defiance born of desperation. “She has my godson, Detective. Do you know what his life will be like if she damages his hands? He’s deaf. He uses his hands to communicate. I should have come to you. Yes, I should have, but all I could think about was Alec, terrified and helpless.”

There was no sound in the room as he and Mitchell stared at each other, the tension thick enough to slice. Then from beside him, a flash of motion as Dana’s hand slid over his. She said nothing, just held his hand where he still gripped the table. With another shudder he dropped his chin to his chest, his knees weak. Such a simple gesture, yet he was the one who felt shattered now. It was another minute before he realized how cold her hand was. She was shivering, hugging herself with her free arm. Goose bumps marred the surface of her bare arms. Abruptly Ethan shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it over her shoulders. This time the shudder was hers as her eyes slid closed and she absorbed the warmth of his body from his coat.

“Are you all right?” he murmured and she jerked a nod.

“Whose ID did she use this time, Mr. Buchanan?” Mitchell asked, her voice quiet now.

Ethan met Mitchell’s eyes again, finding the contempt nearly gone. “The name on the ID she used at the bookstore yesterday was Kristie Sikorski.”

Mitchell and Reagan exchanged a look. “We found her yesterday afternoon,” Reagan said quietly. “She’s dead.”

Ethan’s shoulders sagged. “I know. I’d decided to come to see you this morning. And then I found her on the bus station’s tapes with Alec, meeting Dana. I drove straight to Dana’s apartment and from there we went to the shelter. The rest you know.”

Reagan tilted his head, considering. “And you have no idea who this woman is?”

“If I did, I’d have come to you days ago. I don’t know who she is or why she’s done this other than for five million dollars.”

Reagan shrugged. “That much money could be reason enough.”

Mitchell turned to Dana who’d said nothing during the entire interview. She’d just sat there and listened, growing paler with each revelation. “Dana, tell us about Jane.”

Dana drew in a breath, visibly gathering her composure. “When I picked her up, her face was battered. Someone had beaten her badly, sometime within the past few days.”

Reagan looked over at Mitchell. “I’ve known of people to injure themselves to throw off an investigation, but it’s been rare.”

Dana’s hand slipped out from under his coat and pressed her fingertips to her temple on a quiet sigh. “I saw evidence that she’d cut herself sometime in the past. Long ago, long enough that the scars were barely noticeable. But to beat her own face? Those bruises were brutal. I don’t know if she could have done that to herself.”

Mitchell frowned. “Could she have an accomplice, Buchanan?”

“Her e-mails always said ‘we.’ I had trouble believing she could overpower Paul McMillan so easily, but I never saw anyone else on the tapes except Jane and Alec.”

“Was Alec bruised, too?” Reagan asked.

Dana shook her head. “Not where I could see. Later Evie checked his back when he was asleep and Jane was out smoking, and she didn’t see any bruises, either. Jane would never let us look more closely.”

Reagan’s dark brows went up. “And this didn’t make you suspicious?”

Dana’s eyes flashed. “Not at first. Our clients have trouble trusting anyone, even us.”

Reagan appeared unruffled. “But later? You were suspicious later?”

Dana’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah. By Sunday we were. Caroline was the first to be suspicious. Jane got angry with her when Caroline told her not to smoke in the bathroom. Caroline said Jane reminded her of her ex-husband.”

Mitchell’s brows rose. “Really? When was this?”

“Sunday afternoon, when Evie was at Lillian’s funeral.”

Mitchell and Reagan shared a look. “The timing’s interesting,” Mitchell murmured.

Dana’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, Mia. You don’t think that Jane . . . but Goodman . . .”

“Detroit PD says he’s been up there since the night he killed his wife.”

Dana shook her head. “But Jane was there at Hanover House when I called Evie Monday night. I know it. I specifically asked if everyone was accounted for. I was worried about Goodman coming after the residents.”

Ethan remembered the phone call she’d made from the hospital lobby, how Dana had chided the girl, telling her to stay put and watch the house. Now the conversation made more sense. “Who is Goodman?”

Dana shot him a short look, pulling his coat more tightly around her. “One of my former clients was killed by her husband last week. We thought Caroline’s accident might have been his revenge. We thought he might have even killed Dr. Lee.”

He remembered the turbulence in her eyes the night before, when he’d opened his hotel door to find her standing there. Now that made sense as well. That her work put her in such danger didn’t seem to phase her. That her friends were affected did. That alone pissed him off, that she could be so ambivalent to her own safety. Yet he kept his voice level. “But Goodman didn’t.”

“No,” she whispered. “Jane did. And I brought her here.”

Mitchell leaned against the table next to Dana. “Did you suspect Jane was a killer?”

Dana shook her head. “No. I thought she might be dangerous to herself. Evie thought that maybe she was giving her son too much medicine. But the idea that she could kill? It never entered my mind.”

“Then this is not your fault. Caroline would be the first to tell you that. So would Evie.”

“Caroline can’t hear about this, Mia. Please.” Stricken, Dana looked from Mitchell to Reagan. “She’s got to stay unstressed. There isn’t anything she can do for Evie.”

“I’ll do my best to keep it from her.” Mitchell squeezed Dana’s hand with an encouraging smile. “We’d better tell Max to keep her tuned into QVC and not let her watch the news in case this gets out.” She slid off the edge of the table and her expression turned stern once more as she looked back at Ethan. “Do not even consider leaving town and as soon as the Vaughns get here, you let me know.”

“Will you bring in the FBI?” Dana asked, her voice just a bit stronger.

“Our lieutenant will make the call,” Reagan answered. “It’s possible as the boy was transported over state lines. But this is also a murder investigation now, and within our jurisdiction. We’ll let you know as soon as we know.”

Ethan rose to his feet. Unsteadily. His head was throbbing and he was coming up on eighteen waking hours on just the few hours’ sleep he’d had the night before. While Dana slept beside him. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. “Can we go?”

“Yes.” Mitchell frowned. “Are you all right, Mr. Buchanan?”

“I’m fine. Just tired.” It was just a matter of time before his vision started to black. He didn’t want to have to pop one of his pills in a police station when it did. He pulled Dana to her feet, put his arm around her shoulders, felt her sag against him. “We’ll take a cab to my hotel, Detectives. I’ll call you when the Vaughns arrive from Maryland.”

Chicago, Wednesday, August 4, 5:30 P.M.

“This is a nightmare,” Dana whispered, her eyes on the elevator lights as they rose to the fortieth floor where the Vaughns had a suite. Twenty floors higher than she’d gone last night when she’d come to Ethan, needing him. She needed him now.

Something had changed in the cab ride over. His cell phone had buzzed, it had been his partner, Clay. And Ethan had forced out the words, “I lost him. Tell Randi I’m sorry.” There’d been a pause, then he’d grimaced. “Not yet,” he’d said. “But the night is still young.” He’d flipped his phone shut and stared straight ahead, his jaw tight.

“What?” Dana had asked, afraid to know the answer. “Not yet what?”

“Clay wanted to know if the police planned to press charges,” he’d said grimly, not sparing her a glance. Neither of them had said a word after that, but the closer the cab came to the hotel, the more pronounced the silence had become, the angrier he had become. He’d gone very still at one point, grappling for a packet of pills in his pocket.

He had ocular migraines, he’d said. He’d had one right there in the cab. He sat there, his eyes clenched, his fists clenched, his whole body clenched. Retreating, deep into himself. Even when his vision returned, he said nothing. Now he stood alone in the elevator, a warrior whose armor was invisible, but there. Definitely there. Keeping me out.

Ethan still said nothing. Just stood there until the elevator bell dinged and the doors slid open. Then, ever the gentleman, he waited for her to exit first.

“They’re in Suite 4006,” he said, starting down the hall.

Dana stood still, now, and watched him walk away until he’d gotten about fifteen feet and turned. “Are you coming?”

Dana swallowed hard. “I said I would. I said I’d face Erik’s mother.”

A muscle twitched in Ethan’s cheek. “Alec. His name is Alec.”

“I said I’d face Alec’s mother,” she corrected, wishing she felt as calm as she sounded. “I know they’ll be angry with me. I know they have a right to be. But I need to know if you plan to be angry along with them. If you are, I need to . . .” To what? To run away? To sink into a sobbing heap? That certainly wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Evie and Alec.

“To better prepare myself,” she finally said. “Ethan, I understand that these people are your friends, that you’ve known them most of your life. I don’t expect your protection at their expense. But if I’m going to be standing alone in there, I need to know it now.”

Ethan seemed to sag then and although Dana longed to run to him, she kept the fifteen-foot gap between them. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. Unsteadily he took a step forward. Dana started moving and met him halfway and then once again she was in his arms and there was comfort. “I’m so sorry.” His voice was shaking. “I’ve fucked everything up.”

Dana drew a breath, took in his scent. Felt it soothe. Just enough. “I’d say we both did. For two people who only wanted to do the right thing . . .”

“If the police press charges . . .” He laid his cheek on the top of her head. “I’ve already involved Clay. I don’t want to bring you down with me, too.”

She let out the breath as a sigh of relief. She knew in that moment she’d tell him the truth. Soon. “You won’t. You can’t.” I’ll do that on my own. “What have I done, Ethan?”

His face went desolate. Stark. “No worse than anything I’ve done. Randi knows we lost Alec. She knows the police are involved now. Let’s just get this over with.”

Gary, Indiana, Wednesday, August 4, 5:30 P.M.

Alec had seen that chicken place before. It was hard to miss a fifteen-foot rooster dressed in a baseball uniform on top of a restaurant roof. They were driving in circles. Had been for what seemed like hours since they’d left the scarred lady’s house in the dead lady’s car. He’d seen some papers in the car, letters that said Children’s Protective Services across the top. The scarred girl hadn’t called the cops. She’d called a social worker.

Who was now dead.

Shot in the head. He hadn’t seen it happen. She’d hidden his face, the scarred girl. Her name was Evie. It had said so on the note she’d written. Now he knew he could trust her. Now it was too late. They were trapped with the white-eyed lady whose name he still didn’t know. Whose reasons were as big a mystery now as they’d been the night he’d seen her from the beach house closet. Seven days ago. He knew because he’d seen a newspaper that morning on the kitchen table. The Chicago Tribune. It was Wednesday. He’d been gone for seven days and he didn’t know if his mother was alive or dead.

They’d driven around for a while, him in the front seat and Evie in the back. He’d stolen a look back at her and she’d looked scared. But she’d smiled that weird half smile at him and mouthed for him not to worry. He could guess w words well when hearing people said them, even though Evie’s mouth shaped the words crooked.

He drew a deep breath, tried to stay calm, but his heart was knocking right out of his chest. He’d been kidnapped by a killer. He’d thought he was next when she’d followed an old lady’s car into an alley and made him get out. He was glad he hadn’t drunk any water in a while because if he had, he would have wet himself, he’d been so scared. But she hadn’t shot him. She’d forced the old lady out of her car and hit her on the head. Then she pushed him into the front seat and locked Evie in the trunk.

Alec watched the roof-top chicken disappear in the side mirror, then focused his eyes on the next familiar building, an old high school. He read the sign as they drove past, tucked it away in his mind. He’d memorize every last building because he’d need to know how to get away once he escaped. And he would. He didn’t know how, but he would.